“I cannot believe he did that,” Eleanor says, her shoulders shaking with building laughter. Or maybe shuddering in revolt. Her teammates are all gathering around Gemma, who I am sure is mortified. If she stays with him after this, I’m stealing that trophy for her.
“He didn’t even lose the bet,” Eleanor says.
“Nope. He did not,” I add, glancing to his lonely pile of clothes off to the side of the stage. I turn my attention back to Eleanor and ask if she needs to see the trainer. I can tell, even standing, that her foot is swollen. I’m sure if we took her shoe off, we’d see colors.
“It’s just a sprain, but yeah. I’ll get it wrapped and get some ice,” she says.
The doors near the back of the gym smash open and light spills in from outside. I know without looking that it was Jake exiting. It took him a while to lose security, I’m guessing. He’s heading toward Apricot and Third now.
“Let me grab that idiot’s pants, then I’ll help you get to the trainer,” I say.
“Shouldn’t you, I don’t know, get his pants to him?”
I purse my lips with pretend care and thought as I glance down then back up to her.
“He’ll be all right.”
She laughs, but doesn’t argue with me. Through the chaos, I slip toward the stage and snag the track suit that Jake was wearing while commando. I shove it under my arm so I can support Eleanor on my other side, and together, we hobble our way toward the trainer’s area. He gives me one of the bags he uses for ice when I let him in on the secret that I’m carrying the streaker’s clothes. I drop them between my feet while I wait for Eleanor to get checked out and taped up for her ride home.
I’m tempted to wait through the awards ceremony too, but sitting through six more routines feels cruel. Besides, he has no way to call for help.
I have his phone, in the pocket of his pants. In a bag between my feet.
Eleanor is quiet. I think she’s anxious, or maybe coming down from the high of the competition. She’s been this way since I got back from dropping Jake off at home. I came back to see the last few teams compete and to watch our Badgers take home third. Eleanor seemed excited to hold the trophy, but her smile was always temporary, falling after every picture someone took.
Maybe this has all been too much.
“Do you want to play some music?” I offer her my phone so she can play something other than the four stations I can tune in on the Bronco. She shakes it off though with another temporary smile. She hasn’t even watched the video I filmed.
The sinking pit in my stomach lowers.
It’s probably all in my head, but everything about the sudden mood shift feels like . . . like a breakup. Only, I know it’s not. I reach toward her to take her hand and she gives it to me willingly, no attempt to let go. As I pull her hand up to kiss the inside of her wrist while we wait at the stoplight leading to our street, she slides closer to the center so she can hug my bicep when I’m done. She rests her head on me, and I don’t even scold her for abandoning the shoulder strap of her seat belt.
“Hey, you okay?” I ask. I kiss the top of her head as she gazes up at me through her lashes.
The pregnant pause before she answers is a warning.
“Yeah, just . . . tired probably,” she says. Again, the smile is temporary.
I’m sure she really is tired, so I can’t fairly accuse her of lying. But there is something else weighing on her mind, and I’m not sure whether I should pry harder or be glad she’s protecting me from whatever it is.
Turns out, I don’t get much of a choice in the matter. As we turn down our street and approach home, the reason for her gloom becomes quite clear in the form of a white post nailed at the edge of her lawn with a bright and glaring goodbye message hanging from it.
FOR SALE
I stop abruptly in the middle of the road, and it jerks Eleanor forward. Her hands slap the dashboard but she doesn’t complain. She freezes in that position and stares at the truth ahead. This is what she couldn’t say.
A car slows to a crawl behind me, honking and snapping me out of my daze, so I roll down my window and wave an apology then pull to the side of the road, right next to the offending sign in Eleanor’s yard.
“I thought maybe if I just reversed out of here I could pretend I didn’t see it.” It’s a dumb joke, and neither of us laugh.
There’s not much to say. I can’t be mad at her. It’s not her choice, and I know that. But it sucks. It really fucking sucks.
“Too many memories for my parents,” she finally utters.
“I get it,” I answer quickly. I don’t want her to think there is any blame. There’s not. There’s just . . . hurt. I hurt. This hurts!
“When I’m gone, it will only be the two of them, so . . .”
“Yeah.” I nod slowly. I can’t seem to peel my eyes off that sign. It’s more than just what it is. It’s the added fact that there’s a sticker across it that reads SALE PENDING.
“Why even put up the sign?” Again, I joke. I manage a short, forced laugh. Eleanor remains silent. “If it’s already sold, I mean. Seems like a real waste of resources. Some guy had to come out here today and pound in that pole, and then there’s probably a sticker guy.”
“I think it’s the same guy,” she interjects. “Not one for poles and one for stickers.”
Our heads swivel and
